Dead Man Walking
by babygodzillah
Summary: Dean Winchester is an experienced hired gun, but his latest target may give him more than he bargained for.


An empty shot class was slammed down onto the counter and two fingers rose in the air signaling for another. Dean Winchester was tired, tired of the bullshit in his life, tired of his job, and tired of having to drinking alone in some filthy bar. However, he couldn't escape it, bullshit was everywhere, his job paid the bills, and drinking was the only way to drown the screams in his head. Dean Winchester was a hired gun. While he didn't like to admit it, Dean liked the way is leather jacket tightened around his shoulders when he pulled his gun on his target, he liked the power that spilling blood gave him, he enjoyed the kill. Dean had known death since an early age when his mom died; death followed him after that, peaking around each corner and taking away the ones Dean most cared about. He tried to fight it, push back the inevitable, but one day it become to much and something deep inside him snapped. If he couldn't beat death he would join him. That was the day Dean become judge, jury, and executioner for those wealthy enough to afford it.

While Dean tended to enjoy his job, tonight he was unemployed and there was nothing to keep him from his thoughts. The only thing that distracted him from the guilt in his gut was killing. He longed for his phone to buzz with his next hit, but as the night grew long he gave in and left for his apartment. Dean was currently living in a loft in New York; who said crime doesn't pay? After stumbling through the front hall Dean looked out his window onto the city below, breathing in the cold February air. Ah, he thought, New York City where people go to life their dreams, and in Dean's case where dreams go to die. He chuckled to himself as he fell asleep, hoping that come morning he would have a job. You know what they say, be careful what you wish for.

Dean woke up the next morning to find a message on his phone:

"Dean Winchester, I have a job for you. I have a man who needs to be taken care of immediately. This is a sensitive case and should be handled with complete discretion. I will pay handsomely. I cannot go into anymore detail on the phone, but if you are interested meet me in front of the Metropolitan Museum at 11:30 am, I will be wearing a blue hoodie." Looking down at the clock Dean realized it was already 10:00. He dressed quickly, wanting to be able to get to the location early to stake it out. He grabbed his car keys on his way out the door, Dean knew it didn't make sense to have a car in New York, but occasionally he had to commute, but above all else he loved his 67 Chevy Impala more than anything. He tore out of the parking lot and headed towards the Metropolitan. He arrived at 10:30 and sat down on a bench putting a newspaper in front of his face, he periodically glanced from the newsprint to scan the crowd. He saw the man in the hoodie sit on a near by park bench. The man seemed grungy and it looked like he hadn't showered in days. Looking at the mysterious man you wouldn't think that he could afford Dean's expertise, but Dean knew through years of work that people are often not what they seem. Dean stood then and walked over to the man and sat down next to him. He heard a soft voice utter to him from beneath the hood.

"Dean Winchester?"

"That's me." Dean replied

"I see you have taken me up on my offer."

"Woah there not so fast, I need some more info first, how about we start with your name."

"May name is Marv."

"That's more like it," Dean chuckled, now how can I help you."

"I have an employee who has unfortunately unearthed some incriminate evidence against me. He refuses to be bribed and has threatened to go the press if I don't meet his ultimatum."

"Which is what?" Dean was getting interested.

"He says that if I don't confess by the end of the month then he will show the world the truth. He thinks he is being noble, but really he is just standing in the way of my dream. I won't let the future of my business hinge on one man's actions. He needs to be disposed of, discreetly and quietly."

"And how much money are we talking."

"$50,00. Far more than I gather you are used to. Think of it as an investment, if you fail I will higher another hit man and because you will have most likely unearthed the same evidence my employee has, I will have no choice but to have you killed as well. Do we have a deal?"

"It's a deal. Now who is the guy anyway?"

"All the information you will need is in this file." A vanillin file was slipped onto Dean's lap by the hoodied man. "And remember, if you fail you'll die too."

"Failure isn't in my vocabulary." Dean smiled, he looked over at the man but he was already shuffling away.

Dean drove back to his apartment, and popped open a beer as he sat down at his kitchen table to look over the file. Flipping it open Dean looked at the name spelled across the top of the page in black letters; Castiel Novak.

"Well Cas," Dean said with a coy smile, "let's have some fun."


End file.
